


Lusting in the Library, and Other Inappropriate Things

by Covenmouse



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Covenmouse/pseuds/Covenmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sorting through the racks has never been quite so titillating.   An awkward romance of star-crossed strangers, as relayed by a very naughty dwarf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a wonderful thing that Bethany had never been afraid of heights, or else she might never have found the tome Enchanter Jericho wanted.  Someone had misfiled the dusty, old compendium of dragon lore, or else they’d purposely put it where they thought no one would ever find it.  If the latter, they had certainly done a good job.    
  
Bethany’s big break had come when someone mentioned noting a dragon book among the rarely used or seen theses of one Mage Harowell--mostly concerning the uses of rat dung, for some reason no one was quite sure of--when looking for a book on gem enchantment.  So, out of all other options, up Bethany had gone to the very top of the two-story bookshelf.   At least she could see out the windows at this level.  
  
Closing her eyes, Bethany rested her forehead against the top of the bookshelf a moment.  She took a steadying breath and clutched the tome under one arm.  It was huge, and heavy, and she was having a hard time understanding how she was going to make to down other than the obvious, most likely fatal, way.     
  
No, she’d never been merely afraid of heights--she was _terrified_ of them.  No one wanted to help her collect the book, though, and she couldn’t return to Jericho without it.    
  
“I’ve faced down hordes of darkspawn and this is what bothers me?”  She chuckled weakly at herself and opened her eyes.  Bad move.  Feeling a little sick, Bethany gripped the ladder more firmly in hand and leaned her weight against the rails.  
  
“Are you all right up there?”    
  
It took a moment for Bethany to realize the question was directed at her-- _Who else would it be directed at, you nit?  There’s no one else in here_ , she thought irritably at herself--and another to try and place the voice.  Whomever had spoken was a man, but she didn’t recognize rather thick accent.  Perhaps one of the templars; they rarely spoke to the mages, so she wouldn’t know one by voice alone.  She was too scared to look down again.   
  
“I, um,  yes.  I mean--there’s no problem, just...”  Her pride warred with the need to get the hell down from there.  Her limbs were like ice, not wanting to move in either direction.  Finally, Bethany sighed and closed her eyes again.  “I am very, very stupid.”  
  
“I’m...sorry?”  
  
The chuckle that burst from her lips was borderline hysterical.  Bethany took a moment to regain control.  “Just, ah, having some bravery issues.  Nothing to be worried about.”  
  
“It’s okay,” the man called, his tone strangely lacking in the contempt she’d expected.  In fact, he sounded rather...sympathetic.  How strange for a templar.  “I’ll hold the ladder down here.  Just take one step down.”  
  
One step.  She could do one step, right?  The ladder did feel somewhat better balanced beneath her, now, though the slight tremor when he grabbed hold had sent her heart into her throat.  Carefully, Bethany forced one foot from its rung and lowered it to the next rung down.  Her other foot followed before she dared move her hand.  She’d kill whomever stuck this tome up so high.  
  
“Very good.  You’re doing well,” the man said.  “Now another.”  
  
And so it went, step by perilous step.  It never really got easier and a few times Bethany had to stop, clutching at the rungs and taking deep, steadying breaths.  Not once did the man chide or scold; he was patient as a priest, talking her down and making her laugh a few times--at the whole situation, even, never at herself.  Finally, she neared the bottom.   
  
“Here,” said the man, and a hand gently touched her side.  Bethany startled, dropping the book.  Immediately her balance went, but before she could either catch herself or fall, she found herself being swept gracefully into the man’s arms.  “Woah there!”  He laughed.  “You’re fine now.  I’ve got you.”  
  
Those were the bluest eyes Bethany had ever seen.  She barely noticed the press of his armor into her side and arms, or the clash of their equally ridiculous belt buckles.  What right did a templar have to be so alarmingly good looking?  Perfect bronzed skin, sumptuous auburn hair, chiseled jaw...it was like one of Varric’s stories come to gorgeous life.  She could just see the title now:  Lusting in the Library; forbidden passion strikes the heart of the Gallows.    
  
Distantly, Bethany realized he’d set her down but for one arm still around her back, hand at her hip.  Her own arms nearly encircled his shoulders.    
  
Then someone coughed from the doorway and the spell snapped like a brittle twig.  He dropped her immediately, taking a wide step backward and inclining his head to her.  “Madame.  I trust this is better for you...ah, down here, I mean?”  
  
Bethany looked to the door to find the First Enchanter Orsino staring at them both with the strangest expression of sad amusement.  Trying for a smile, Bethany turned back to the adonis still watching her.  “Much.  Thank you for your help.”  
  
“My Lady,” he said, sketching a bow, and marched for the door.  Orsino nodded to him.  The First Enchanter graced her with a brief glance, then allowed the library door to fall closed behind them.  
  
It took several moments and quite a few deep breaths to clear Bethany of last vestiges of excitement and terror.  Never again would she climb the ladders up that far, she swore, not even in the service of an Enchanter.  Though she supposed if all such things ended with that sort of encounter...no.  Whomever that man had been, he was no templar, she realized.  Though his armor had been marked with clear symbols of Andraste, there wasn’t any templar iconography.  Strange; quite strange.  
  
As she collected the fallen tome off the floor she wondered if that made her feel better or worse.    
  
It would be another year and a few months before Bethany saw or thought of the helpful stranger again, but when she did Bethany instantly recognized him.  Standing in the courtyard of the Gallows, her breath caught in her throat as her sister introduced Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven.  He bowed formally and brushed his lips over her knuckles, apologizing for the attempt the Carta had recently made on her life--braving the templars to do so, no less--and expressing his hopes they could put an end to such assaults...but there was no spark of recognition in those dreamy blue eyes, and she couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit disappointed.    
  
“Come on,” Hawke said, and hooked her arm through Bethany’s.  “The Carta won’t kill themselves.”    
  
“Though wouldn’t it be nice if they’d save us the trouble?”  Bethany offered her a smile, determined not to hate her sister for dragging her away.  This was her first time allowed out of the city since she’d joined the Circle, and she was determined to make the most of it...even if it was just another of her sister’s crazed adventures.  In a way, she’d missed them.    
  
“And miss out on a good story?  Sunshine, you surprise me.”  Varric sounded utterly appalled, though Bethany caught the telling twinkle in his eye.  “If it weren’t for your sister I’d have run out of ideas a long time ago.”  
  
Hawke fixed him with a wicked grin.  “I don’t know, Varric;  _Hard in Hightown_ has more to do with Aveline, doesn’t it?”  
  
“Oh, _Maker_ ,” Sebastian and Aveline swore together, generating laughs from their companions.  Bethany bit her lip on the sudden, irrational urge to offer the title that had come to her so long ago.  _Not appropriate_ , she reminded herself.  _Not in the_ least _bit appropriate_ \--but oh, how she wished it could be.


	2. Chapter 2

It had taken him several hours to place where he’d first seen Bethany, but when he did Sebastian felt like a fool.  All he’d noticed when Hawke had introduced them earlier were a pair of hazelnut eyes, wide with a quiet sort of innocent wonder bordering on surprise.  But of course she was surprised, he’d realized some time later.  As much as he hadn’t known what to make of the strange mage girl too terrified of heights to let herself down a ladder, yet too proud to ask for help before climbing one, she had probably not known what to make of him, either.  Assuming she’d thought to make anything at all of the incident, which she probably hadn’t--Sebastian mentally clubbed himself with humility.  Bethany surely had better, more pressing things to concern herself with than a chance encounter a year ago.  As a matter of fact, so did he.  Strange that he would find himself thinking about it now.  
  
Stranger still that she should be Hawke’s sister, though.  He’d heard her name a time or two from Varric and Isabela, and had certainly heard that Hawke had a sister in the Circle.  But what were the odds that she’d be the mage girl who’d felt so good in his-- _Maker, forgive me_.   
  
Despite the depravities of his youth, Sebastian had never been so taken with someone so quickly, and it left him feeling, well, a touch _disturbed_.  To make matters worse, Bethany proved herself to be quite capable both as a fighter and a healer.  Not that that was particularly surprising, he decided, given her family.   Both ranged fighters, they stood back as much as possible while Aveline and Hawke jumped straight into the fray.  So it was that Sebastian had had plenty of time to watch Bethany’s mastery of the elemental forces at work, despite the Darkspawn.    
  
 _Andraste’s Grace, why am I thinking about this?_   It was more than a little ridiculous.  Sebastian stood with his back to the wall, watching up and down the long corridor.  Darkspawn could be gathering in force, fit to annihilate them--well, to try at any rate--and here he was mooning over a girl in a pretty dress.  A very beautiful girl in a pretty dress, he amended.  Beautiful and competent and, if he weren’t mistaken, stealing as many glances at him as he was her.  
  
This was not good.    
  
Pinching his fingers against the bridge of his nose, Sebastian tried to rub away the headache threatening to form.  He thought he’d given up these...these _urges_.  _Andraste_ was his wife in the eyes of the Maker--or she would be, anyway, once Elthina agreed to take him back.  Such impure thoughts only confirmed that the Grand Cleric was right to be suspicious of him.  The sooner they got this little mission over with, the sooner Bethany would return to the Circle and everything would go back to normal.  
  
“Are you alright, Sebastian?”  Aveline was watching him from across the hall.  They were each guarding a side as Bethany worked a healing spell on her sister.  Thankfully, the brutal cut on Hawke’s side had been caused not by a Darkspawn’s sword, but a misstep next to some rather sharp debris.  Possible infections aside, it was less likely to lead to Taint.  
  
“I’m fine,” he assured her, dropping his hand.  “We’ve just been down here a while.”  
  
“I know,” Aveline replied, and pressed her lips into a thin line.  She hadn’t been happy about leaving the city, and less so when became apparent where they were going.  Hawke had offered Aveline the chance to turn back, but she’d refused to leave them alone to face the Darkspawn.  Then they’d been sealed in, and there was no going back.  Only down and out, down and out...the lingering voice of the Taint-addled warden run in Sebastian’s ears and he suppressed a shudder.  
  
Why they hadn’t come out in force, Sebastian didn’t rightly know.  Hawke should have gathered up all the friends she had, all who would come, but she’d insisted the Carta was an easy enough problem to deal with and set off with just the four of them.  Even Varric had hung back once they’d reached the city gates, stating he had some business of his own to attend.  So far as Hawke was concerned, the Carta’s attacks were more of an annoyance than a major worry; she was just curious to know what she’d done--this time--to piss them off.    
  
But given her record thus far, Sebastian was beginning to think she ought to have expected it would go deeper than that, maybe just not quite so literally.  Regardless, they were trapped here now; no point in over-analyzing it until they were on the surface and he had some room to meditate.    
  
“That’s the best I can do,” Bethany finally said and sat back on the dirty pavestone. She pushed her long, dark hair out of her face and and heaved a sigh.  Hawke groaned.  After a few moments, the elder sister rolled herself up into a sitting position and righted her armor again, covering the bare midriff that had been showing.  Sebastian averted his eyes.  
  
“Andraste’s tits,” Hawke swore as she fingered the gigantic rip in her leather tunic, through which the faintest pink scar could be seen on her side.  “This was my favorite, too.”  
  
“I’m amazed you haven’t found another down here,” Bethany replied dryly as she got to her feet and dusted off her skirts.  “You seem to have a nose for randomly discarded armor.”  
  
“Day’s still young.”  Looking at the stone ceiling, Hawke gave a tiny laugh.  “I think.  Maybe.”  
  
Aveline shifted away from the wall she’d been leaning against.  “We’re wasting time.”  
  
Bethany helped Hawke to her feet, and the latter woman stretched her back till it popped before she nodded.  “Right.  We’ve got to find that last seal.  I’m certain we’re close now; we must be.”  
  
Before moving on, though, she paused to dig a faintly glowing, blue glass flask from her pack and tossed it to Bethany.  It was uncapped immediately, but Bethany sipped it rather than gulping it down.  “Thanks.”    
  
Favoring her sister with a feral grin, Hawke pointed a dagger down the hall.  “Tally-ho troops!”  
  
“Some days, Hawke...”  Aveline let the threat hang; though she did not smile, her annoyance was belied by an edge of affection in her voice for their self-appointed leader.    
  
She did, however, scoff when Hawke cheerfully replied, “You wish you’d left Donnic for me, like you should have in the first place?”  
  
“I didn’t realize you were interested in him.”  
  
“Him?  Hardly.  Now the gorgeous, willful redhead in the mix...”   
  
Aveline rolled her eyes, but even in the dim light offered by Bethany’s staff, Sebastian thought he could see her blushing.  “Idiot.”  
  
Hawke affected a put-out sigh.  “Some days, Aveline...”  
  
“Wouldn’t Isabela have something to say about that?”  Sebastian arched a brow, and was a little surprised when all three women burst out laughing.  
  
“Maybe if we didn’t invite her to watch...or join in,” Hawke turned back to grin at him.  “ _Definitely_ if we didn’t invite her to join.”  
  
“Oh,” was all he could say as his brain unhelpfully supplied images of what Hawke was proposing.  _Maker, what was wrong with him today?_    
  
“You’re incorrigible,” Aveline sighed.    
  
“I try.”  Hawke’s laughter cut short as she rounded a corner.  A feral snarl echoed through the corridor just before the Darkspawn presented themselves.  “Here we go!”     
  
There were, in fact, two seals, more absolutely batshit Wardens, a whole horde of Darkspawn, and an ancient, tainted Tevinter Magister between them and their exit.  In retrospect, Sebastian was glad they had made the trek--no matter how tired and sore they all were.  That _thing_ had no right existing, caged or not, and it good to have put it out of its misery before it caused even more damage to the surrounding area.    
  
Some part of him dared to hope that, perhaps, with Corypheus dead the unrest in Kirkwall might dissipate somewhat.  Even in his own head that sounded naive, though Andraste willing...  
  
When they reached the surface—clear on the other side of the mountain from where they’d last been—he and Aveline headed off a little ways to where a small creek ran between the rocks.  Behind them, Bethany and Hawke had each collapsed onto the crumbled ruins of a wall, arms about one another and sobbing.    
  
“Poor girls,” Aveline said quietly as they reached the stream.  “They haven’t had it easy of late.”  
  
“Has anyone?”    
  
She gave him a measuring look as she knelt by the stream, uncorking her waterskin and dipping it in.  “We’ve all been through a lot,” she replied after a long moment, eyes now carefully upon the water and voice gentle, but firm.  “But reopening an old wound can be just as painful as the day it was created.  And on the heels of a fresh one, at that.”  
  
Sebastian flinched.  “Of course.  My apologies, I did not mean...”  He pulled his own waterskin out of his pack and knelt in kind.    
  
“I know you didn’t.”  When hers was full, Aveline corked it and began work on Hawke’s.  Sebastian followed suit, reaching for the third she’d brought with her.  “Have you made up your mind yet?  About Starkhaven?”  
  
After a moment, Sebastian was forced to sigh and shake his head.  “Not as such.”  He usually only spoke of his internal struggle with the Maker, Andraste, Elthina or Hawke.  Aveline had always seems supportive, however, and he didn’t have to ask how she knew--she’d been with Hawke the day they’d overheard his rather embarrassing attempt to reconcile with the Grand Cleric.  Aveline had excused herself; Hawke had not.  
  
It’d been weeks since that confrontation, and Sebastian was just as confused now as he had been then.  Hawke had encouraged him to follow his heart, and yet...had he been imagining the disapproval in her eyes?  She always seemed strangely devout for so lascivious a person, and previously unbothered by his open devotion to Andraste.  It was important to note how hard she’d worked to raise herself into the nobility from purest poverty, of course.  Perhaps she thought him lacking in ambition, which was, sadly, untrue.  If it weren’t, he’d have marched an army the instant he was able--contradictory as that seemed.  Fortunately, Sebastian was far less uncertain when it came to Aveline, whose disapproval was instantly clear in the tightness of her mouth and brow.    
  
Sebastian capped Bethany’s waterskin and rose; Aveline did the same with Hawke’s.  “I am not certain another war would be fair to the people,” he said, hoping his tone was not nearly as pleading as he thought.  “I was able to exact revenge against those responsible.  Perhaps that is enough.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Aveline agreed with a faint nod of acknowledgement.  Ahead of them, Hawke and Bethany were each mopping their cheeks--Hawke with the back of her hands, Bethany with a handkerchief--and laughing.  Bethany looked up when he offered her, her waterskin.    
  
“Thank you,” she said, meeting his gaze with reddened eyes but a smile brilliant enough to put the sun to shame.  No wonder Varric called her “Sunshine.”  Distantly, Sebastian realized was  staring.  
  
“ _Well_ ,” said Hawke, a little too loudly, as she jumped onto her feet; the proximity of her forced him to take a step away from Bethany.  “We’d best get moving.  I’d rather not be out here at dark, if we can help it.  Got a city that needs a babysitter, blah blah blah.”  
  
Hawke grabbed her sister’s arm and all but drug her away, leaving Sebastian and Aveline to trail behind.  Aveline gave him a curious glance as she passed, but if she noticed anything unusual she didn’t offer a statement.


	3. Chapter 3

When the Carta had been dealt with, and she and Hawke had spent what felt like an hour crying in each others arms over hearing their father’s voice again, they returned heavy-hearted to Kirkwall.  She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t paused at the sight of them, heinously ugly things that they were, and briefly considered whether she might talk her sister into running.  Hawke would undoubtedly agree, assuming it was what Bethany really wanted.    
  
If there was one thing Bethany never doubted about her sister, it was that Hawke would--and actually had, once--give the shirt off her back should either of her siblings have need.  There was nothing Hawke wouldn’t do for her...and it wouldn’t be right to even _suggest_ something she wasn’t sure she wanted to do.  After all, the templars had a phylactery for her now.  They could, _would_ , find her, no matter how far she ran.    
  
At the gates, Sebastian volunteered to walk her “home.”  Hawke, as always, had other crises to attend--ones Bethany had no sanction to become involved with.  
  
For a while she and Sebastian walked in awkward silence.  Bethany wished she were better at speaking with handsome men, a talent that had always seemed to come so naturally to Hawke.  She’d just opened her mouth to comment on the weather when Sebastian said “I probably shouldn’t, this isn’t really my place, but...”  
  
“Go on?”  _Please, for Andraste’s sake_ , don’t _ask about my sister..._  
  
He turned those gorgeous eyes on her and Bethany’s stomach dropped a little at the confused wariness she read upon his face.  “You really didn’t know your father was a blood mage?”  
  
Bethany stopped in the middle of the street like she’d been slapped.  She snapped back into motion just in time to narrowly avoid being squashed by a cart of oranges.  Moving off to the side, she found herself glowering at the man she’d only just been so enamoured with.  “He wasn’t,” she snapped, “The Wardens forced his hand, that’s all.  Just that once.  You heard him.”  
  
“I...”  Sebastian began, with the faintest of winces.  Not wanting to hear it, Bethany turned to march down the docks for the Gallows boat.  The templars were waiting there, and barely gave Sebastian the time to nod to her with a polite “Lady Hawke” before she was escorted aboard.    
  
She was still angry by the time she reached the mage’s quarters in the Gallows.  If there was one thing to be said for the Gallows, though, it was that they were given wonderful amenities...provided they kept in line:  baths, feather beds, clean clothing, and all the food they could eat.  The best cure for a temper she’d found was a long, hot soak with a good book and a tray of strawberries.  Besides, she was filthy after an excursion like that.  Surely no one would object to her ridding herself of the dust and grime of the Deep Roads, even if it took the rest of the afternoon.  
  
Though she found the book she’d been reading in her cell--a manuscript for Varric’s newest title, “ _The Pirate’s Booty_ ,” ostensibly an action-adventure about a mysterious Tevinter treasure lost in the caves of the Wounded Coast and thus far proving far more concerned with treasure in the pirate’s cave--Bethany actually intended to look over the papers they’d discovered in the Warden’s Prison.  It was a risk bringing those here, of course, but one she’d managed to convince Hawke to let her take.  Bethany had access to the Gallow’s resources, after all, and the book smarts to put her mind to research that her sister lacked.  While still doubtful she’d find any further information it didn’t hurt to try.  This whole episode was strange, even by their standards, and had left them all more than a little uneasy considering the sort of things that seemed to go consistently wrong in Kirkwall.  
  
Somewhere deep beneath her feet there could still be more demons their father had helped imprison, churning up an eternal pit of negative energy.  With so many cave-ins decimating the ruins they would never be certain they’d managed to kill off everything.  Just thinking about it made her shiver anew.    
  
After she’d scrubbed herself raw and drawn a fresh bath, Bethany laid back in the piles of sweet-smelling bubbles and let the hot water soak itself into her tense, travel-knotted muscles.  She wished Carver was there to give her a backrub, like he’d used to--clothed, obviously.  As much as they teased and fought with one another, he’d been her brother and her twin.  She’d grown used to missing him at odd moments, over things she’d never put much thought into until they no longer were.  If their family was still together, she wouldn’t have the luxury of a hot soak and fresh fruit whenever she wanted them, but she would have siblings to torment her over her bookish nature and rub the soreness from her shoulders.  Bethany would trade all the luxuries of the Circle for one more night in their little traveling wagon.    
  
Setting the ancient, molding papers aside, Bethany sniffled and slipped down until her head was underwater.    
  
Did she _know_ her father was a blood mage?  
  
For all her indignation, Bethany had to admit there wasn’t much about her father which she could be certain.  Malcolm Hawke had died when his youngest children were eight, with only a handful of years of training passed to his mage-gifted daughter.  The other mages in the Circle praised Bethany for her control, for how well she’d been taught.  She didn’t dare mention to them how much of it was gained through her own trial and error, reading the journals her father had left behind.  Her father had left a solid foundation for her to work on, nothing more.  And even that seemed to be more than most of the non-Circle-raised mages could claim.  
  
According to the Circle’s teachings, most mage-gift surfaced from ages six to thirteen; rarely later, or, rarer still, earlier.  Bethany’s gift had come to light on her fourth name day, when, in a fit of excitement, she’d crispy-fried the ham their parents had gotten special for the occasion.  They’d packed up and left town the same week after she’d done the same to the neighbors’ chickens.    
  
But four was exceedingly young; too young for her to clearly remember now, no matter how hard she tried.  Her father’s nickname for her had been his “little prodigy,” and in her more-egotistical moments Bethany could understand why.  There simply never was a time when she didn’t know magic, didn’t feel it coursing through her veins, didn’t have it at her beck and call.  There had been a time when she couldn’t control it as easily, of course, and all the guilt and shame that came with the consequences.    
  
This was all equally true for Carver, save the being-a-mage part.  He was her twin, and thusly just as incapable of remembering a time _before_ Bethany’s magic.  Hawke, on the other hand...  
  
Six years the twins’ elder, Hawke--who had just been “Lizbet” at the time--was nine-years-old when they’d packed their house in the middle of the day and raced out of town before the templars could be called.  _Nine_ when their father revealed to his children for the first time that he himself was a mage--a fact their parents had agreed to hide even at home in an attempt to provide a normal life.    
  
From there their home was a traveling merchant’s wagon.  They sold balms and potions and miscellaneous supplies, never staying in any one place too long...all so Bethany could be taught control without anyone taking notice of her accidents.  Most of Bethany’s memories of that wagon were good ones.  Their family was tight knit and they got on well enough.  But every family had bad days, and in so confined of quarters there was no way to hide them.    
  
The crack of skin on skin seemed to resound through the tiny meadow, audible even from inside the wagon.  Bethany and Carver peeked over window sill of the wagon’s tiny interior, where they’d been confined the instant Lizbet had returned to camp.  Outside, they could see Lizbet glaring at their mother, whose hand was slowly falling back to her side.  Lizbet’s cheek was red from the impact, her eyes bright with furious tears.    
  
“Don’t you _ever_ say anything like that again,” Leandra hissed, her eyes narrow slits of rage.  Some part of Bethany was aware she should have been more hurt and upset by her sister, but all she could do was stare in disbelief.  Neither of their parents had ever so much as raised a hand to them.  That Lizbet had pushed their mother to such an extreme seemed unfathomable, no matter that they’d seen it with their own eyes.  
  
“Mages.  Are.  Monsters,” Lizbet replied, pronouncing each word carefully.  Her fists trembled at her side, and she winced as Leandra’s hand came up again.  Malcolm caught his wife by the wrist.  
  
“Leandra!”    
  
Their mother jerked backward, wrist pulled from her husband’s grasp, and clapped both hands to her mouth.  Leandra’s eyes widened and she paled like a ghost.  But Malcolm had turned his attention to Lizbet, who still stood ramrod straight and still.  “You don’t mean that,” he said firmly.  “I know things haven’t been--”  
  
When he tried to touch Lizbet’s shoulder, she tugged sharply away like he’d bitten her.  “You know?!”  Lizbet’s voice broke.  “What do you know?  She could have killed those people!”  
  
“She didn’t,” Malcolm replied, somehow managing to keep his patience.  “Everyone is safe.”  
  
“This time.  What about next time, Dad?  Or the next?  He was my _friend_ , now he won’t even look at me...”   She sniffed, loudly, and her voice took on a sarcastic edge, “Not that it matters, right?  We won’t ever come back through here, will we?  Another gigantic ‘X’ on the map, thanks to Bethany’s ‘little accidents’.”  
  
Malcolm pursed his lips, his brows furrowed.  Bethany knew that look.  He was angry, but he didn’t want to give in to it.  Strong emotions were bad for a mage, he always told her, you had to be ever vigilant against your own heart.  “I’m sorry about your friend, Lizbet, I really am, but do you think _locking your sister up_ is the solution?”    
  
“No!”  Lizbet sobbed, then sniffed and said more quietly, “Yes.  Maybe.  I don’t know.”  
  
“And your father?” Leandra pressed.  “It’s not just your sister you’re talking about.”  
  
Lizbet shook her head furiously.  From their vantage point, the twins couldn’t see her face, but they could see the tremble in her shoulders.  Carver reached for Bethany’s hand, squeezing it.  
  
“I just want to be normal,” Lizbet whimpered.    
  
 _So do I_ , Bethany thought, miserably.  She and Carver had just turned eight; already they were well aware that would never be the case or any of them.  It could _never_ be the case when your life was wound up in magic, even if you weren’t a mage yourself.  
  
Both adults stared at Lizbet, neither seeming sure what to say.  Finally, Lizbet ran for the cover of the trees.  Malcolm started after her, but this time Leandra caught his arm.  “Let her go,” the woman whispered hoarsely, “She’ll calm down.”  
  
Malcolm nodded.  Then he looked up, and met Bethany’s eyes.  She hadn’t even noticed she’d been crying.  
  
Two months later, their father died and everything changed.  Eventually, Bethany had forgotten the entire incident right up until the day she’d been caught by the templars.  Hawke had stormed in, saw what was going on, and nearly drew her blade on the Knight-Captain himself.  Bethany had stopped her, though she’d wanted not to.  Despite the display, a part of her had wondered if it hadn’t been Hawke herself that had tipped the templars off...no.  No matter how angry or bitter Hawke might have become, Bethany couldn’t believe that that was right.    
  
But the more used she became to the Circle, the easier life within its walls became, the greater grew Bethany’s remorse over the past.  Hawke hadn’t put it in the kindest manner, but maybe she’d had a point.  
  
Bethany rose from the water and wiped her hair from her eyes.  Someone pounded at the door.    
  
“Miss Bethany?”  Instantly, she recognized the voice of one of her eldest pupils, Sorell.    
  
Refraining from a sigh, Bethany eyed the towel laid on a nearby rung.  She didn’t want to get out.  “Yes?”  
  
“The First Enchanter is waiting for you in his office.”  
  
She really ought to have expected that.  Bethany pushed her wet, tangled hair back again.  “Tell him I’ll be right there,” she called.  Sorell chirped a quick “yes miss,” and her footsteps retreated down the hall.    
  
Moving gingerly as the travel soreness hadn’t been quite worked out, Bethany got herself out of the bath, dried, and changed into some clean robes before heading toward Orsino’s office.  Her hair was only towel dried and combed, and she felt more than a little disheveled, but it would have to do.    
  
Orsino was seated, making notations on some essays strewn across his desk.  The feather tip of his quill was between his lips, which he instantly let go the moment he noticed her.  “Ah, Bethany,” he said, and gestured for her to come in.  
  
She shut the door behind herself and took the other chair when he indicated it was all right.  “You wanted to see me, sir?”    
  
“I trust your trip went well...”  
  
Bethany’s fingers convulsively closed around the manuscript in her hands.  Not wanting to leave them in the shared bathing complex, she’d stuffed the Deep Roads papers into the book and carried it with her.  “Well enough,” she said, as her brain raced with indecision.  “We got the problem under control.”  
  
He nodded and put his pen aside.  “That is good to know.  The last thing we need is another break in...”  
  
 For a moment, Orsino seemed to grow distant.  He stared over her shoulder like he was seeing a thousand miles away.  Then he looked at her again and offered a weary smile that never quite reached his eyes.  “We were worried about you, gone so long.  Did you find out why they were after you?”  
  
One finger rubbed gently along the parchment cover of _The Pirate’s Booty_.  “We did,” she confirmed after a moment.  “It was...”  
  
“Not something you’re comfortable discussing,”  Orsino supplied after a moment.  He leaned his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands before him, the first knuckles of each index finger grazing his pointed chin.  The First Enchanter had always seemed a good man to Bethany.  He was a brilliant magician, smart, funny, and he cared a great deal about the Circle’s members.  Rather than being some whipped or cowardly mage who would grovel at the Knight-Commander’s feet, Orsino was more of a warrior.  He often stood toe-to-toe with Meredith, giving her a run for her money on the nasty meter whenever he felt she had, or was about to, step over the line.  Though Bethany had never seen him turn that same fire on any of his mages, she figured there could always be a first time.  
  
When Bethany didn’t say anything, he nodded sagely.  “You’re afraid of what I--” He paused, looking at her.  “No, what Meredith might think.”  
  
Smart.  Right.  Bethany allowed herself an apologetic smile.  “Yes, First Enchanter.”  
  
“Between the two of us, then,” he promised, and she knew that he’d mean it.  Still...  
  
Maybe being honest now is best, Bethany thought to herself, rather than waiting to see if it bites me in the bum.  Besides, this information could be dangerous to everyone in Kirkwall.  She was done being selfish.  
  
Slowly, she put the manuscript on the desk.  Orsino’s brow arched at the title, but he didn’t say anything.  Bethany flipped through to where she’d stuck the pages in, then handed them over.  Carefully, she explained the entire trip:  the Carta, their crazed desires, following the tunnels into the Deep Roads, their demons’ prisons, even the part about Corpheyus trapped beneath the city.  Though she hesitated again over bringing her father into it, Bethany found herself telling him anyway.  Her hands knotted into fists, clutching at the fabric of her skirt as she pressed them against her knees.  
  
Orsino was silent a long while as he studied the papers.  Finally, just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he looked up.  “You’re right to be worried about Meredith’s reaction,” he said very quietly, as though he dreaded the walls themselves might be spies, “I wouldn’t go spreading this around...”  
  
“No, First Enchanter,” she agreed.  Then she pursed her lips.  “I was wondering, though--”  
  
His brows raised again, waiting.  “Go on.”  
  
“Well.  It seems like maybe this might have a lot to do with some of the, ah, tensions in the cities.  Maybe that’s a little far fetched, but the sheer amount of negative energy gathered down there couldn’t have been good.  I was rather hoping I might look into it a little more, maybe see if there's not something we could do.  Like a--a cleansing.”  
  
Truth told, the idea hadn’t even been fully formed until the moment she’d said it, but now that it was out there it sounded right.  Bethany fixed Orsino with a hopeful smile as he watched her.  
  
“Very well,” Orsino said after a moment.  “I’ll let Jericho know that you’ll no longer be in his service.”  
  
“...Sir?”  
  
Orsino handed the papers over to her.  “I think you might be right, but I’ll be interested to see what you figure out.”  When she took the papers, Orsino held aloft one finger, “But I would rather you not mention this to any of the others.  This project should be on a need-to-know basis.  Understood?”  
  
Bethany nodded, suddenly feeling her heart lift as it hadn’t since she’d first seen her father’s magical apparition.  “Yes, sir.  Thank you.”  
  
Clearly dismissed, Bethany rose to her feet and, rather than head to her cell, practically floated all the way to the Gallows library.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, I have altered the canonical back-story for the Hawke family a little, to further individualize my Hawke.


End file.
